


Carnival

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Cave-In, Community: sga_flashfic, First Kiss, Gen, Harvest Festival, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-15
Updated: 2005-03-15
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nothing good ever happens when you two go off on your own," Ford called after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carnival

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for sga_flashfic's "Enclosed Spaces" challenge. Thanks to chelle for the beta.

Twenty tents were settled around the village common, and the few standing wooden structures were showered with garlands. Sheppard and company had arrived in time for the spring planting festival, and right now, most of the villagers were rooting for a winner in the ylma shearing contest.

It was the most excitement John had had in…well, since the last time they traded here. 

While Teyla talked to the locals, John spent nearly twenty minutes staring up at haystack rock. Settled at the top of a gentle hill maybe a mile away from the village, it looked like gold in the afternoon sun; there had to be a hell of a view from the top of the thing. He looked around — Teyla was absorbed in the ylma shearing while McKay was examining its fleece. Ford looked as bored as he felt. 

"Keep an eye on them," he told Ford. "I'm taking a walk." 

"Sir, do you think that's wise?" 

"Ford, nothing is going to happen. They don't even drink on this planet. In fact, they think alcohol is a poison, can you imagine?" 

"No, sir. I can't." 

"Neither can I. Anyway, we've traded with these guys before and nothing ever happens." He tapped Ford lightly on the shoulder. "You'll be fine." 

"If you say so, sir." Ford looked resigned. John slung his P90 into a more comfortable position, and then headed for the hill and the gleaming rock. 

It felt good to stretch his legs and just move. He missed going for hikes. Oh, sure, they hiked all the time when they visited a new planet, but that was always a hike with a purpose, to find someone or something useful. 

A hike without intent was a luxury, and John found he missed it. 

The sounds of the festival followed him as he walked, the noise growing fainter, reminding him of carnivals of his childhood. Every July, there was a carnival that set up in the parking lot of the K-Mart two blocks from school and he couldn't wait to go. The rides were old and ugly, the paint peeling, and the operators looked — and smelled — like they hadn't bathed in three days. The fact that the pavement trapped the heat didn't help anything, and he always came back sicker than a dog from all of the excitement. 

No one cared, though, because it was the carnival, with a midway and music and food that you never got to eat at home, all of it fried. John looked at the town behind him. They probably had something similar there. Climbing the hill, he remembered how his foster brother Tony once gave him five bucks to keep him busy so Tony could go win a giant stuffed squid for his girlfriend. 

John spent every penny of that money riding the rock-o-plane. 

Once the cage door slammed and the carnie slid the bolt into place, John's heart started pounding. He was alone and soaring above the earth, twisting and turning and rolling upside down. The first few times he screamed, but by the sixth time, he was stuck with a permanent grin, and the carnie gave him his last ride for free. 

* * *

Something wasn't right. Rodney felt the not-rightness jumping around inside him, like sparks from an electrostatic generator. He glanced quickly around the village green. Still bucolic and pastoral and completely dull. Teyla was seated with the village elders, sipping tea and talking about the harvest, and Ford stood at her left, her ceremonial guard. 

Sheppard was no where to be seen. The thought made his stomach tighten. He hated it when people went missing. It was bad enough on Earth when a boss or two suddenly disappeared, but out here — well, people died. Rodney really didn't like that. 

He stepped over to Ford. "Where's Sheppard?" 

Ford pointed at the large yellow-ish rock that vaguely looked like a burial mound off in the distance. "I think he's up there. You want me to get him?" 

"No, I will." The hill couldn't be that far away, could it? Rodney rubbed his hands together, the sensation of ants crawling over his skin getting worse. There was probably something like lanolin in the fleece that was making him itch. He wasn't getting anxious over Sheppard's disappearance. Not at all. 

Okay. Maybe a little. 

"It's no problem, Doctor McKay. I'd be happy to go." 

"No, someone's gotta stay and act as Teyla's assistant. You're not bored by shearing, are you?" 

"Beats the hell out of watching an apple rot, doctor." 

"Yes. Well, I guess there is that." Rodney looked at the hill again. Maybe it was a burial mound. Now that was an interesting thought. He slung his P90 into a more comfortable position and sighed. 

"Nothing good ever happens when you two go off on your own," Ford called after him. 

Rodney waved him away and headed toward the rock. It was time they were moving on, anyway. 

* * *

Haystack rock was cold, hard and nothing at all like a haystack once John sat on it. It did, however, provide a great view of the valley around the village. John could see a figure in the distance walking toward him, and from the slow, loping gait, guessed it was McKay. He shook his head. McKay had to be phenomenally bored to come after him. 

It was funny how much they had grown to like each other. Back on earth, he was certain that McKay wouldn't have given him the time of day, just growled at him and said something like "Stop being an idiot and get out of my way." 

Only smarter and more sarcastic than that, 'cuz McKay was a smart and sarcastic guy. It was one of the things that John rather liked about him. Truth be told, John suspected that he had a thing for geeks. 

Too bad McKay never wore glasses. 

John slid off the rock and dusted himself off. At least he could give McKay a hand up over those last few steps. The ground was kind of tricky there. 

* * *

Oddly enough, gunfire felt sort-of reassuring lately, especially if he was the one firing the gun. "Sheppard, did you get it?" Rodney called out. 

"Yeah, Shelob's dead." Sheppard rocked the spider-like carcass with his foot, and then winced. "I think I did something to my leg though. You okay?" 

"Some scrapes, a few minor cuts, and I think one of the rocks hit me when we slid into the thing's lair." 

"That was kinda fun, wasn't it?" Sheppard limped a little closer, his uniform torn, dirt smeared on his face and arms. He was grinning, though, and his eyes sparkled, so he couldn't be seriously injured. "Sorta like a carnival ride." 

"You have an odd definition of fun." Rodney rubbed his temples and wondered if he had antiseptic cream. Not just for himself, but for Sheppard. Even scrapes needed to be cleaned as there was no way to tell what sort of alien bacteria might be waiting around to infect them. 

"Here." Sheppard cradled Rodney's head between his hands and looked over the cuts carefully, running a gentle finger over them. 

Gentleness felt dangerous, and Rodney felt his heart accelerate back to spider-attack levels. He stared helplessly as Sheppard held him, and he couldn't figure out where to look. Dark eyes, inviting lips — every where Rodney looked was dangerous and unsettling. 

Gentleness was going to break him. 

"You'll be fine." Sheppard dropped his hands, but it took him longer to turn his gaze away. "I thought the spider might have shaken you." 

Rodney did feel shaken, but it wasn't the spider. "No, spiders are good, even if they are the size of mutant wolves. It's just that I find those radioactive man-rat movies you enjoy to be rather annoying." 

"Annoying? How can mutant insects be annoying?" Sheppard's eyes sparkled, and the bruise starting to form on his left cheek made his lips look even more inviting. Which really wasn't an appropriate thought. 

"I can do better. When I was eight, I tried making some in my underground lair." Rodney busied himself searching for Neosporin and band aids in his pants pockets to avoid looking at Sheppard's lips. 

"You had an underground lair. That seems vaguely right." Sheppard sat down on one of the rocks near where they had tumbled into the spider's den. 

Rodney nodded, giving up the search for antiseptic cream. "I wanted to be a supervillain when I grew up. All supervillains have underground lairs, normally near an active volcano. Microsoft would never have been as successful as it was if Mount St. Helens never erupted." 

"I did not know that." Sheppard started massaging his thigh and calf, winced, and started rubbing again. 

"You'll screw it up. Let me do that." Rodney settled down onto the ground and started digging into Sheppard's thigh muscles, turning his mind away from the rocks and dirt that he knelt on as well as what he was doing. "It's true. All the best supervillains come from Seattle now. Before, they came from Japan. None are from Canada." He felt awkward rubbing Sheppard's thighs, and as soon as he felt the muscles relax, he moved to the relative safety of Sheppard's calves. "You ever try to set up the lair of an evil genius in an abandoned hockey rink? You get absolutely no respect, let me tell you." 

"Too bad." 

"Yeah." Rodney pushed up the legs of Sheppard's pants to see if there was any visible damage and winced. The left calf had a couple of rocks stuck to it and a long scrape, like he'd gotten once from falling off a bicycle, but the right looked in good shape. The rocks fell off the moment he touched them, but he saw Sheppard's calf muscle twitch and heard his sharp intake of breath. That had to hurt. 

Crap. Water. He had water on him. He could at least wash the dirt off. 

He unscrewed the top on the canteen, cupped his hand and poured water in it, then massaged it over the wound. Now it was his turn to be gentle. He tried not to notice how good John's leg felt under his hands, the muscles firm, the hair coarse . He poured more water into his hand, and gently massaged John's calf; the third time, he kept going with the massage simply because the skin contact felt so good. 

He felt John shift slightly, and heard a soft moan. He paused, tensing, and pulled back. He mentally shrugged, and rested his trembling hands on his own thighs, breathing heavily himself. He stared at the ground and waited for Sheppard to say something, anything, about what just happened, but the silence kept going, growing long and uncomfortable. Rodney glanced at his friend. "Listen, Sheppard—" 

But Sheppard wasn't looking at him. He was looking up at the chimney hole they'd fallen through, probably thinking about Wonderland. "I don't think I can climb out." 

Oh. So Sheppard was thinking about escape. There was an easy solution to that. Rodney touched his comm, and within two minutes, Ford notified them that he had assembled a rescue team. 

"I guess not everyone is interested in ylma shearing." 

"Imagine my surprise," Sheppard muttered. "I was bored outta my skull." 

"Same here." 

Sheppard's eyebrow arched. "And here I thought you followed me because of my scintillating wit." 

"Well, if you had some, it might be that." Something was going on here, and Rodney wasn't sure what it was; Sheppard hadn't acted the way Rodney expected him to at all. He had his suspicions — it had to be some sort of bonding thing, and he wasn't good at that. Relationships confused him. He wanted them to be like a mathematical equation, where it all neatly added up. 

Sheppard kept talking, dragging Rodney away from his thoughts. "Then it's my charm." 

"Not so charming." 

"My excellent physique." 

That made Rodney laugh a little, which came out as a lopsided and slightly rueful smile. "You are incredibly fit." Even he could hear the longing in his words, and he flushed, feeling embarrassed. 

He waited for more awkward silence, but Sheppard rushed in to save them. "I have great calf muscles, as I'm sure you could tell." 

Rodney glanced up, not quite believing what he was hearing. Sheppard's gaze held no deep, passionate secrets, but it did hold warmth and interest, humor, and just a hint of fun. 

Fun was something in short supply in Atlantis right now. 

"Yes, your calf muscles are excellent." Rodney stood and dusted himself off. His throat felt dry, and his words came out deep and hoarse. "When we get back to Atlantis, I would love to examine them in more detail, if you'd be willing." 

"I think I'd manage." 

He looked like he was going to laugh and Rodney couldn't resist. He leaned over and brushed his lips against Sheppard's, the kiss quickly deepening. Rodney nipped at John's lower lip, and John threaded his fingers into Rodney's hair, pulling them close. It wasn't one of the soft and fragile kisses that made Rodney feel awkward and embarrassed and left his mind skittering through all the possibilities for how badly it would all turn out, but a wild, passionate one that demanded his full attention and put his mind on hold. Warmth and heat and soft lips destroyed him, just as Rodney feared they would. He kept pressing himself in closer, trying to remove whatever space lay between them, only to feel the rock that John was sitting on shift; Rodney had to back away, or risk pushing Sheppard off of his impromptu chair. 

John's eyes were closed, his lips swollen. "That's better than the rock-o-plane anyday," he muttered. 

Rodney had to agree. 


End file.
